This may only be a passing fancy, but for now, I could enjoy oatmeal every night, eaten at this time.There's something filling and wholesome about a hot bowl of instant oatmeal. Of course the fact that it is "instant" oatmeal also means you won't feel very full for long. I do appreciate that I am not eating a honey bun though.
For a few weeks before this week, (the week in which I've decided oatmeal is most excellent at 1AM), I've eaten a honey bun either near the beginning of my shift, with coffee; or near the end, also with coffee. If you are going to do honey bun, you'd best do it right-with coffee. Now though, I find my sense of doing the right thing for once has permeated my life. I don't usually do the right thing when nobody's watching. If you put the honey bun directly beside the oatmeal and asked me to choose, I would more than likely choose the honey bun.
How am I supposed to feel, as a Christian, when I can't even make the right choices concerning the simple things in life? An interesting thought about that: Who's the hypocrite? The sensualist who makes no bones about the fact that he will always choose the easier, pleasurable path over a good, yet painful one any day; or the Christian who does everything right in front of everyone, but in private tends to choose the path of pleasure? Do we/I really believe in God? The answer of course is yes. However, our everyday actions should tell us what we believe about God; who we believe he is. Apparently we really don't think he cares that much, because we'd feel like he was watching us when we chose wrongly. Nor do we seem to consider he is both the God of love/grace and judgement or, yet again, we'd definitely reconsider knowing our judge is always ever-present.
I have found another possibility, and it has little to do with what we actually think about God. Sometimes it is simply a case of fatalistic, why-bother thinking. We just get tired of thinking, questioning, ascertaining, wondering; sometimes we just want to do. We act, strike-out, eat, have sex, and we try not to have any thoughts while doing it. We know about consequences. We know about judgments and the God who will be witness to the whole thing. These things are pushed in the background, and then we start trying God's patience.
We hold a belief somewhere in our sub-conscience that God's mercy/grace will last forever. There also exists, constantly at war with the former, a belief that we're finally going to go too far this time. Gambling with our lives we forget, and do, and regret. A familiar "this will not be the last time" cycle.
So it feels good to notice I have began making a few small "nobody else will know" good choices. I am not just enjoying doing what I know to be right, but also the sweet taste of cinnamon and brown sugar.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
Mosquito
Recently, I was caught singing at work. This got me thinking. Why did I say "caught" at singing?
American males belong to a current of machismo that must not be broken at all costs. Why is this? Who made the rules of this machismo, and why don't we have massive meetings about them? We never debate these rules. They are never spoken. Yet we feel obligated to abide by them. Singing aloud is one we particularly frown upon with embarrassment.
The guy that caught me didn't make a big deal out of it. He just smiled and pointed at the part he'd brought in. This same guy has heard me singing to myself before, telling me afterwards that I had a good singing voice and shouldn't stop. He'd asked me if I was in a church choir. Of course I have no reason behind singing, besides that I just want to. We feel as if we need some explanation for our actions, and giving one just adds more authority to the unspoken rule that was broken.
This time when I brought his part back, he didn't talk about it at all. I don't know if there was something on my face that said the subject was off limits, or if he felt in himself that he shouldn't re-cross such a taboo subject. I gave him the information he needed and moved on. The result stuck with me though. I had been rehearsing how I should respond to his queries this time. Yeah, you got me. He says something about why I was singing. I just enjoy it, you know.
Of course no explanation was needed, even though, I felt sort of let down that I didn't get to tell my secret, bursting through the wall of silence; a rebel with a cause. I was feeling justified and ready to defend the part of myself that had dropped the handkerchief. I must admit though, that I felt a bit relieved that he had effectively dropped the subject. I could continue singing, un-harassed until someone else walked in.
Why is singing off limits? *Raises hand* Yes? "Because singing reveals part of our soul?" Why yes, I do believe you've hit on something there. Singing is in a category with activities such as telling someone "I love you," and jumping rope. These are some of the things that make men uncomfortable because these activities are feminine in nature. Usually girls enjoy jumping rope, making up rhymes to go with each skip. Girls also feel free to say "I love you" any time they like, while those words must be dragged out of the masculine population. I could ask why this is, but that is a whole separate conversation that could take hours of hot debate.
I have decided that even without answers to why this machismo hangs like a fog over the heads of mankind, I will rebel and be my own man. The ironic thing is this rebellion can be found when the cloud of masculine identity. The other ironic thing is that machismo sounds too much like mosquito to be a coincidence to me.
American males belong to a current of machismo that must not be broken at all costs. Why is this? Who made the rules of this machismo, and why don't we have massive meetings about them? We never debate these rules. They are never spoken. Yet we feel obligated to abide by them. Singing aloud is one we particularly frown upon with embarrassment.
The guy that caught me didn't make a big deal out of it. He just smiled and pointed at the part he'd brought in. This same guy has heard me singing to myself before, telling me afterwards that I had a good singing voice and shouldn't stop. He'd asked me if I was in a church choir. Of course I have no reason behind singing, besides that I just want to. We feel as if we need some explanation for our actions, and giving one just adds more authority to the unspoken rule that was broken.
This time when I brought his part back, he didn't talk about it at all. I don't know if there was something on my face that said the subject was off limits, or if he felt in himself that he shouldn't re-cross such a taboo subject. I gave him the information he needed and moved on. The result stuck with me though. I had been rehearsing how I should respond to his queries this time. Yeah, you got me. He says something about why I was singing. I just enjoy it, you know.
Of course no explanation was needed, even though, I felt sort of let down that I didn't get to tell my secret, bursting through the wall of silence; a rebel with a cause. I was feeling justified and ready to defend the part of myself that had dropped the handkerchief. I must admit though, that I felt a bit relieved that he had effectively dropped the subject. I could continue singing, un-harassed until someone else walked in.
Why is singing off limits? *Raises hand* Yes? "Because singing reveals part of our soul?" Why yes, I do believe you've hit on something there. Singing is in a category with activities such as telling someone "I love you," and jumping rope. These are some of the things that make men uncomfortable because these activities are feminine in nature. Usually girls enjoy jumping rope, making up rhymes to go with each skip. Girls also feel free to say "I love you" any time they like, while those words must be dragged out of the masculine population. I could ask why this is, but that is a whole separate conversation that could take hours of hot debate.
I have decided that even without answers to why this machismo hangs like a fog over the heads of mankind, I will rebel and be my own man. The ironic thing is this rebellion can be found when the cloud of masculine identity. The other ironic thing is that machismo sounds too much like mosquito to be a coincidence to me.
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